


Much Ado: The Given-Away Groom

by beetle



Series: Much Ado [1]
Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Apologies, Attraction, Bad Flirting, Banter, Bastardizing Shakespeare, Chance Meetings, Charm, Drunken Flirting, F/M, Honesty, Humor, M/M, Much Ado About Nothing, Opposites Attract, Past Relationship(s), Past Reyes Vidal/Zia Cordier, Past Scott Ryder/PeeBee, Post-Wedding, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Romance, Pre-Slash, References to Shakespeare, Reyder, Reyes Vidal makes an ass of himself, Reyes is Benedick, Runaway Bride, Scott is Beatrice, Scott's not having it, Second Chances, Shakespeare Quotations, Troubled Scott, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 16:01:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13057338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beetle/pseuds/beetle
Summary: Scott “Harly” Ryder gets left at the altar. Enter an unasked-for Benedick justachingfor a Beatrice. Harly obliges. Thus, begins the first day of the rest of their lives. Prompt in end notes.And now with the correct "ADDITIONAL TAGS"! Sorry about the weird Marvel-tags that got mixed in with ME:A ones. As forBurning of the Ships at Losgar. . . I don't evenknowwhat that tag references. But the imposters have been removed and this is NOT a weird Andromeda/Marvel/Losgar(???) crossover. Thank you for your patience during this troubling time.





	Much Ado: The Given-Away Groom

**Author's Note:**

> Notes/Warnings: Modern Human AU. Angst, banter, and pre-romance. Some fluff. First of a series of planned fics in the “Much Ado”-verse.
> 
> And on a side note: I totally picture the quirky and gorgeous [Osric Chau](https://www.google.com/search?safe=off&tbm=isch&q=kevin+tran&chips=q:kevin+tran,g_3:osric+chau&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwjdxMnQ0IzYAhWSUN8KHfV4AjYQ4lYILCgA&biw=2133&bih=1025&dpr=0.75) as this particular Scott Ryder :-)

 

 

 

“You . . . look like you’re waiting for someone.”

 

Scott Harlow Ryder—still dapper and pulled-together in his tux, yet not as dapper and pulled-together as he had been just before _The Wedding That Almost Was_ had crashed like the Hindenburg—didn’t bother to straighten, or even look up at the low, accented rumble.

 

He merely smiled and studied his fancy black shoes. His left shoe was on the shallow, second-lowest front step of the reception hall. His right was on the sidewalk and it was coming untied.

 

It was rare, indeed, that Harly ever looked _just so_ , or stayed that way. He always found ways to lose track of his appearance. Or something happened that made it moot.

 

“Nah. I’m . . . I think I’m done waiting,” Harly said, unable to stifle a rueful laugh as he did. The fiery light of an April sunset winked off a second pair of shoes that drifted into his vision from the left. As fancy-shiny as Harly’s shoes were, _these shoes_ were even fancier-shinier . . . and perfectly tied, to boot. The trouser hems that fell _just so_ on them were a medium-gray.

 

“Hmm. That sounds . . . admirably proactive,” the voice observed mildly. “They say good things come to those who wait, but I, myself, have never found _that_ to be true. I’m an advocate of _making_ good things happen.”

 

“Smart man. Wish I’d caught that memo growing up. Or even just two years ago.” Harly snorted and wiggled his naked, ringless fingers. His hands were dangling uselessly between his knees, as they so often seemed to.

 

 _If I could go back to tell Dad one thing,_ he realized as his vision blurred with tears of grief, loss, and loneliness, _it’d be: You’re right. Not being proactive never got anyone anything they wanted._ Hoping _instead of_ working _is no kind of plan at all, just wishful thinking and laziness. Or lack of ambition and stupidity_.

 

Harly had always been a dreamer and wisher. But never _lazy_. Which only left lacking ambition as his rationale. And stupidity, of course.

 

Snorting out a shaky sound that could’ve been a laugh or a sob, Harly swiped at his overflowing eyes. But after thirty seconds of doing so, his eyes and face were no drier, his vision no less blurry. He was also fighting gasps that wanted to be sobs. Or possibly a panic attack. Or far, far worse.

 

“Ah, hey,” Shiny Shoes said with gruff concern, moving closer hesitantly. Lean, but strong thighs clad in fine wool—probably finer and more expensive than Harly’s waiter get-up tux—entered Harly’s vision.

 

A gentle, firm hand landed on Harly’s left shoulder for a few moments, squeezing reassuringly, then falling away. Before Harly could even decide if he missed it, Shiny Shoes was sitting next to him on the sixth step with a sigh. He was close enough that in the mid-spring chill, Harly could feel the warmth of him, but not close enough that they were touching. Nonetheless, Harly shivered. Blinked away the worst of his tears with effort, then wiped his eyes.

 

This time, when the tears didn’t seem inclined to force their presence, Harly sniffled and looked over at Shiny Shoes. Then he blinked some more even as his eyes widened and his brow furrowed.

 

“I . . . don’t know you and won’t claim to know what you’re going through, but if you’d like a nonjudgmental ear—who you don’t know from Adam, and thus won’t be likely to rat you out to mutual acquaintances—then I’m more than willing to be that ear,” Shiny shoes said with a warmth that seemed to surprise him, more than it did Harly. He was tall, dark, and _handsome_ , like a soap opera-star. Soot-dark, perfect undercut; skin the color of the aged Mount Milgrom Harly’s father had loved; and mint-green eyes the color of the [Fenton Art glass pieces](https://www.google.com/search?q=mint+green+fenton+glass&safe=off&tbm=isch&tbo=u&source=univ&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwiA8M711ozYAhVHON8KHdGPCR0Q7AkINg&biw=2133&bih=1025%20) Harly’s mother used to collect and which Harly had inherited.

 

Shiny Shoes’ smile was knowingly charming, but also . . . slightly quirked and sincere. As if even though he was offering, he completely understood why Harly, or anyone else, _wouldn’t_ choose to use his particular ear, and took no offense.

 

Frowning and furrowing even more, Harly opened his mouth to thank Shiny Shoes and polite his way out of a conversation that wouldn’t help or solve anything for anyone. Then he closed his mouth after only a sigh emerged, accompanied by a rebel tear, which he dashed away.

 

“I got ditched at the altar a few hours ago,” he heard himself say in an even, matter-of-fact enough voice made only slightly hoarse from tears and the holding back of.

 

Shiny Shoes’ eyes were the ones to widen, now. “Ah . . . that is . . . disheartening, indeed.”

 

Letting a crooked smirk of his own cross his face, Harly nodded. “It _is_ pathetic to get dumped by your fianceé in front of a packed venue of relatives, friends, and well-wishers, yes.”

 

“Quite,” Shiny Shoes agreed with commiserative sanguinity, his Fenton Green-eyes taking Harly in, in a slow, appreciative once-over. “But I find it far more . . . difficult to believe that anyone not suffering a head injury, or a monastic calling would leave _you_ at all. Let alone when they’re about to . . . put a ring on it, as it were.” Shiny Shoes’ dark brows lifted, and Harly found himself blushing and looking down. “At any rate, my condolences on your canceled nuptials. I can’t imagine how that must feel . . . nor can I imagine that someone so deeply invested in the tying together of two lives would _deserve_ such an ignominious let-down.”

 

“That’s kind of you to say. You’re . . . kind,” Harly said, another sigh drifting up and out of him as he met that compelling gaze again. He even found a nearly-real smile for his companion, who hummed.

 

“I’m hardly kind, merely . . . offended that right now, some utterly addled groom—or bride—considers you a bullet worth dodging, when _you’re_ clearly the sort of bullet one gladly takes to the head. _And_ the heart.”

 

Harly’s face went up in another fierce blush, but this time he didn’t look away. He held that challenging, flirty, and curious gaze as steadily as he could.

 

“Bride. And, uh . . . PeeBee’s a lotta things, but addled? Nah. She’s . . . always known what she wants. And for a time, what she wanted was _me_. And I was . . . lucky. And content.”

 

“Hmm.” Shiny Shoes’ smile grew a bit pensive. “Content. But not happy?”

 

“I—” Harly blinked and bit his lip. “There’s a difference?”

 

“For many people, there isn’t.” Shiny Shoes looked down at his . . . shiny shoes, and shrugged broad shoulders that were showcased in charcoal wool. His tie and matching pocket-square were an opalescent shade of green that complimented his eyes. “ _Happy_ is rare and worth reaching for, even if we know our reach will always exceed our grasp. _Happy_ is a horizon one must always chase without the promise of getting or keeping. _Contentment_ is . . . what many _settle for_ because they lack the vision or guts to reach for something better, bigger, and riskier.”

 

When those eyes met Harly’s again, he found himself shivering. “Is settling so wrong, then? Finding something comfortable and secure and . . . _nice_ that you can trust not to get twisted or bitter, or completely destroy you?”

 

“I suppose not. _If_ , in fact, you _can trust_ whatever you settle for to not destroy you.”

 

Harly blanched then blushed so fast under Shiny Shoes’ pointed stare, that even as he stood up, he nearly fell over. “Right,” he said, wavering between going back into the full-swing reception—Harly had seen no point in wrecking everyone’s afternoon of free food, booze, and watered-down power-ballads just because _his_ entire life had been knocked off-course—or maybe just going home. _No one_ would expect him to keep up appearances and be his usual, responsible self, _today_. “Point to you, my clever friend. Have a good evening.”

 

“Wait! I’m . . . I shouldn’t have said . . . that was unkind of me. Pointlessly and undeservedly so. _Unworthily_ so,” Shiny Shoes added and Harly, already shuffling off down the sidewalk, merely shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I apologize.”

 

“When you’re right, you’re right. No apologies necessary. Have a nice one.” _Home, it is_ , Harly decided. He could text Sara—who had still been dancing pretty exclusively with Cora’s old Marine-buddy, Vetra Nyx—once he got home and got his waiter-costume off, and just ask her to handle the rest of everything.

 

And Harly was prepared to keep shuffling to the corner of the hall, thence to make his way around to the parking lot adjacent to it, when he suddenly got company.

 

Shiny Shoes was keeping pace with him. Was again close enough that Harly could feel him, but not close enough that they were touching. Though—considering that they were almost of a height, with perhaps an inch in Shiny Shoes’ favor—that their shoulders, at least, didn’t brush was surprising.

 

“I’m not always a complete asshole to attractive and interesting men who’ve just had their hearts broken,” Shiny Shoes said in a soft, rueful, but earnest rush. He sounded angry and, when Harly glanced over at the other man, _looked angry_ , as well. Though not at Harly, if that frustrated set to his handsome face was any indication.

 

“Not always, huh? Well, I must be special, then. As special as everything else about this awesome day,” Harly mused with fake-wonder, and could see Shiny Shoes flinch, from the corner of his eyes.

 

“Ah,” was the reply, along with an uncomfortable laugh. “You _do_ strike me as special, but in ways that I’m guessing are . . . refreshing. And compelling. And . . . sweet.”

 

Harly snorted. “Uh-huh. Do you _always_ waste your best come-on lines on down-on-their-luck idiots you randomly stumble across?”

 

“Hmm. Nothing I’ve said so far has been even _close_ to _my best_ come-on lines. I’m off my game, tonight,” Shiny Shoes admitted absently, and Harly snorted again, then laughed. That earned him Shiny Shoes’ surprised glance. There was something almost painfully hopeful and apologetic in it.

 

“Well. _That_ much is true, I suppose. _I_ sure won’t argue with it.”

 

“Thanks. I think.” More of that simple sincerity, dilated Fenton Green-eyes, and a small smile that wavered, as did Shiny Shoes’ step. Harly blinked and frowned as he realized that, despite his suaveness and self-possession, the other man was likely quite drunk.

 

Indeed, Harly was catching faint whiffs of _Mount Milgrom 1736_ coming from his left. Not the same label Harly’s Dad had most favored, but one of his top three: smoky, dark, expensive, and mule-kick strong.

 

Ignoring his own wave of nostalgia, Harly looked forward again. Let the silence stand as he turned right, into the huge parking lot attached to the reception hall. Shiny Shoes followed without comment or hesitation.

 

Harly paused, however. He couldn’t remember for the life of him where he’d parked his car. He’d left remembering exactly where to Sara, because Sara _never_ lost things and never _got lost_. And, anyway, Harly’d thought she’d be the one driving his car back to his place at the end of the evening.

 

Now, he supposed, from the sparks flying between them, Sara’d be getting a . . . ride from Vetra Nyx.

 

Smirking then sighing, he dug his keyfob out of his pocket for a rousing game of _Follow the Car-Alarm_.

 

The beep of horn and flash of brights was, indeed, some car-lengths distant.

 

With another sigh, Harly shoved his hands and keyfob into his pockets, and strode off car-ward. Shiny Shoes followed him contemplatively, clearly lost in his own sloshed thoughts.

 

“Angling for a lift home?” Harly asked dryly, sardonically. Shiny Shoes blinked over at him and yeah, he was almost completely loopy. Harly must’ve been extremely distracted to have not noticed that haze of whisky attending the other man, if not the blitzed luminosity of his eyes.

 

“Noooo,” Shiny Shoes exhaled, glancing around the lot as if hoping to spot something. Harly instantly went cold.

 

“If you’re even _thinking_ of driving, skunked as you are, I _will_ tackle you and wrestle the keys from your hand, even if I have to _break_ your fingers. Even if I have to break _you_ ,” he informed his companion grimly, only to get a confused and incredulous expression, which cleared into a smile that was bemused.

 

“I took a taxi here. I plan to take one home.”

 

Still scowling and suspicious, Harly held the other man’s gaze until that bemused expression became a warm, smile and throaty chuckle.

 

“You . . . really are something, aren’t you?” Shiny Shoes murmured, giving Harly another once-over that lingered at Harly’s shoulders on its way down then, upon returning upward, at his eyes. That Fenton Green-gaze was warmer than his smile, bordering on heated. “Unusual . . . and _dazzling_.”

 

“Because I won’t let you drive your drunk ass home and possibly kill others, as well as yourself?” Harly shook his head. They’d stopped walking next to a blue, late model Volvo SUV. “Your threshold for dazzle is depressingly low.”

 

“Not at all.” Shiny shoes laughed again. “When it comes to men, at least, it’s always been rather high. For better or worse. Higher than it is for women, anyway.”

 

“Right. Is that your subtle way of informing me that you’re bisexual?”

 

“Only if you find the information pertinent and useful. Or might, in the future.”

 

“Look,” Harly said firmly, stalking off toward his far-car, once more. With Shiny Shoes at his side. “I get that you’re a flirt, and that’s . . . it is what it is. But not only have we been acquainted for, like, _barely_ five minutes, but in that time, you’ve insulted me _and_ the ex who I happen to still _love_ since, you know, she literally only left me a few hours ago. And pretty much broke her _own_ heart, too, while doing so.” He shot a glare at Shiny Shoes, who was apparently listening with rapt-drunk attention. “Plainly put, your sexuality and relationship status won’t be pertinent and useful to me _ever_. Not even in the future. You’re wasting your time. I’m _not_ on the rebound yet and even if I was, it wouldn’t be with _you_.”

 

Shiny Shoes blinked, then grinned. “Oh, rest assured, a one or few nights-stand, while you’re on the rebound—as intense and delightful as that might be—isn’t exactly what I’m reaching for.” His grin widened in wry self-deprecation.

 

Snorting, Harly shook his head. “Well, if you’re expecting something _more_ than that . . . even the one night-stand isn’t within your grasp, reaching though you claim to not be. _More_ , whatever that is, isn’t even in the same room as the table, let alone on it.”

 

Shiny Shoes tilted his head as if taking Harly’s measure and reading between his lines. Through force of will, Harly didn’t fidget under that drunk-but-keen gaze, merely served Shiny Shoes a cool, unimpressed smile in return.

 

“I would like to be your friend . . . actually, no,” Shiny Shoes amended, that wry smile curving his mouth further. “I would like to be a _lot_ more than that, I think. But if all I ever am to you is a friend, I think that would be . . . not at all a consolation-prize. I would like to know you in _whatever_ capacity suits you, whether or not it deepens in the future.”

 

“I—you—” Harly massaged his temples for a minute, with his eyes closed tight. After counting to ten then back down to one, he opened his eyes and lowered his hands. Shiny Shoes was watching him with both curiosity and that startling concern from before. Stung, for some reason, Harly glared and spoke before the other man could ask him if he was alright. Or otherwise extend a sympathy and compassion that was, Harly knew, sincere, if nothing _else_ about the man was. “A guy like you must have lots of friends and admirers—hangers-on and hopefuls. Why’re you wasting time with _me_?”

 

Shiny Shoes frowned. “Perhaps because I can’t imagine _any_ time spent with you—in any _way_ —could be considered time wasted.”

 

“Yeah, well, you’re pretty short on imagination, then. And wrong. Dead-fucking-wrong. My own _fiancée_ couldn’t convince herself I was worth some time. A few years, or even months or weeks. Hell, even _I_ wasn’t stupid enough to hope for a _lifetime_. But a _little while_ would’ve been. . . .” Harly’s vision doubled, then trebled, then cleared as tears ran down his cheeks. He didn’t bother wiping them away, since Shiny Shoes had already seen. And anyway, Harly didn’t care what the other man thought of him. Especially since Shiny Shoes had already expressed his low opinion of him. “I get that you’re trying to be nice and apologize for what you said before. Apology accepted, all’s forgiven. But the _brutality _of what you said doesn’t make it any less honest and true. I’m an idiot and a coward and . . . a disappointment. That’s always been the case. You picked right-up on that—hole in one, as they say—and called it like you saw it. Like a _lot_ of people eventually see it. That’s not something your kindness and good intentions in the aftermath can fix or help. So, thanks for the pity, but no, thanks. Have a good night.”__

____

 

____

Harly turned away and started walking again, his heart racing, his eyeballs throbbing, and his head pounding. He was anxious and angry, and felt as if he was careening toward out-of-control speech.

____

 

____

And out-of-control behavior, as well.

____

 

____

The last thing he wanted was to have a repeat of what’d happened in freshman year of high school. Didn’t want to get so enraged he blacked out during the middle of what’d _feel_ like a plain, old panic attack. Only to crawl out from under a universe of midnight and find himself in the back of a squad car with a bloody nose, bloody fists, and no memories of a fight that’d follow him forever. That would dog his path from his fancy private high school, to the military academy across the country his father had shipped him off to.

____

 

____

He really, _really_ didn’t want that. But between the throbbing, pulsing, and aching of head, blood, and throat—his fucking _throat_ felt like it was convulsing, and he couldn’t _breathe right_ —he was suddenly sure that what he wanted and what actually happened weren’t going to have much in common.

____

 

____

As per usual.

____

 

____

“Hey,” Shiny Shoes said softly, catching up to Harly quickly and keeping pace no matter how much Harly tried to ignore and out-walk him. Harly didn’t even realize his fists were clenched and that he was panting, gusts of air whistling in and out of his flared nostrils, and with his eyes narrowed again to slits of blurred, trebled vision. Shiny Shoes extended his hand as if to clasp Harly’s shoulder, like he had in front of the reception hall. Harly shrugged off the kindness, shaking his head and with his own hand held up in warning.

____

 

____

“No, don’t . . . it’s not,” he managed, then shook his head again, hanging it and closing his eyes. Asshole-ish tendencies aside, Shiny Shoes didn’t deserve a beat-down and hospitalization just because Harly’s anger was apparently not as managed or calmed as he’d long since believed and hoped. “Stop following me. I don’t wanna hurt you.”

____

 

____

“That’s . . . appreciated,” Shiny Shoes said, still strangely earnest, and solemn, as well. Harly hunched his shoulders, lowered his head, and kept walking. He didn’t even know where he was going, anymore. He knew he should hit the alarm on his keyfob again, but didn’t think what was left of his pride could stand admitting his own scattered, shattered state in front of a witness. “What’s your name?”

____

 

____

“Seriously, could you _please_ just be somewhere I’m not? Aren’t there friends and colleagues you can drunk-text, or something?”

____

 

____

“I’m Reyes Vidal,” Shiny Shoes went on, relaxed and friendly, though Harly could sense the effort and tension behind it. And it must’ve been _extra_ effortful and tense, if he could sense it beyond his own consternation and ire. He pinched the bridge of his nose, but knew that whatever was brewing in his skull wouldn’t be staved-off by such a simple trick. He really, _really_ needed to go home and medicate. _Self_ -medicate. Injudiciously, even. And stay that way for the next few days. “I, myself, am here for a wedding, too. In the east hall. My ex- . . . _ex_ invited me to her wedding purely out of spite. Since she went to all the trouble to do so, _I_ felt it would be rude of me to not attend the event, in the same generous spirit. My wedding gift to the happy couple is me making a show of eating my heart out.”

____

 

____

Harly barked a startled laugh. “Now, _there’s_ something kitschy and fun that probably wasn’t on the gift registry.”

____

 

____

“Indeed.” Shiny Shoes— _Reyes Vidal_ —chuckled, throaty and wicked, and Harly found himself smiling a little. “Plus, there’s an open bar and Zia’s lucky prey—er, _husband—_ has fantastic taste. In alcohol, at least.”

____

 

____

“And suddenly his true motivations reveal themselves. . . .” Harly huffed through more laughter. Reyes shrugged.

____

 

____

“As they always do, eventually.”

____

 

____

Harly glanced at Reyes and rolled his eyes again. The other man was watching him with unhidden appreciation, and smirking like a man with a secret. “Indeed.” Harly gave him a frosty, haughty _as if_ -look. Reyes chuckled again, cleared his throat, and looked ahead.

____

 

____

They were getting close to the chain link fence that demarcated the end of the reception hall lot and the west parking lot of the old Gateway Security Systems complex. The facility had been empty as far back as Harly could remember. The grounds had always looked haunted and forgotten, and only looked more so with passing time.

____

 

____

Harly had always pitied the real estate company tasked with getting someone to take the property on. . . .

____

 

____

“You still haven’t told me your name,” Reyes noted as they reached the final row of cars before the chain link fence.

____

 

____

“Well-spotted.” Harly, his face red and shoulders tense, paused at the bumper of a gray-brown Land Rover. He almost leaned on it, but didn’t, in case the alarm was sensitive. But he figured that _Reyes_ had to know that he was just bluffing and stalling. Though Harly was hoping that Reyes would wander off before he had to admit that he had no clue where his car was.

____

 

____

After another knowing laugh, Reyes proved Harly’s hypothesis right. “I believe we've passed the vicinity from whence came your lights and horn. Some rows back, in fact, and an aisle further to the right. . . .”

____

 

____

“I find you infuriating and smug,” Harly snarled, whirling on Reyes so suddenly that the other man took two steps back, seeming surprised and wary. But only for a moment. His charming smile made a quick comeback and he winked at Harly before taking several steps closer. Into Harly’s personal bubble.

____

 

____

“You aren’t the first,” Reyes claimed with what sounded like pride. Harly sneered, though he wasn’t used to making such an expression and it faltered almost instantly.

____

 

____

“Color me shocked.” He crossed his arms over his chest and made the mistake of inhaling deeply to calm himself.

____

 

____

This close Reyes, of course, still smelled of _1736_ , but he also smelled clean and alluring. [Masculine](https://www.sephora.com/product/pour-homme-P219907), but not overwhelming: musky-sweet, like cedarwood and vanilla . . . with bright hints of orange, and darker notes like sage, too.

____

 

____

And his _eyes_ were. . . .

____

 

____

Blinking and blushing and confused, Harly took a step back—or tried, and was halted by the gray-brown Land Rover. For a moment he was just glad the alarm didn’t go off. Then, he was gasping as Reyes stepped closer.

____

 

____

_Way_ closer. And his eyes didn’t seem nearly as giddy-drunk or sad-drunk as they had been, at turns. They were sober and intense. Naked.

____

 

____

“Even just a first name? Please?” he entreated, but also held and _commanded_ Harly’s gaze. Blushing even deeper, Harly looked away, off toward the Gateway compound’s cracked, weedy, and abandoned lot.

____

 

____

“ _Harly_ ,” he heard himself say, bit his lip, then closed his eyes and shook his head ruefully. “ _Scott_ , actually. But everyone calls me _Harly_.”

____

 

____

“Hmm. You . . . don’t strike me as the motorcycle-type.” Reyes’ voice seemed lower and more intimate. And even closer. Harly didn’t open his eyes to confirm that, but the faint heat-scent of _1736_ ghosted across his face. A strange, desperate, _scared_ laugh bubbled up out of him.

____

 

____

“That’s because I’m not. My . . . middle name’s Harlow, my mom’s maiden-name. I, apparently, inherited the Harlow personality-type and . . . temper. My family’s been calling me _Harly_ since I was a toddler.”

____

 

____

“Ahh. Families and their affectionate pigeon-holing,” Reyes mused, with no small amount of rue, and Harly was surprised into opening his eyes. Reyes was, indeed, closer—almost kissing-close—but staring off back toward the reception hall. His expression was brooding and melancholy. But it soon snapped back to Harly, considering and wry again. “You look more like a _Scott_ , to me. But if _Harly_ is what you prefer, I’ll happily call you that.”

____

 

____

“I. . . .” Harly could only gape at first, then sputtered out: “It doesn’t matter, since we’re not likely to ever meet again. And certainly _not_ on a familiar nicknames-basis.”

____

 

____

Reyes’ dark brows lifted. “That remains to be seen. Regardless, I’d like to know which you prefer, so that when I wake up in the morning, hungover and alone, I can lament, ‘Ah! To be so thoroughly rejected by such a lovely man as’. . . ?”

____

 

____

“Wow. You’re _at least_ several different kinds of asshole. Some of them simultaneously,” Harly observed, and Reyes laughed.

____

 

____

“ _Scott_ , it is, then! Something in your snarky deflection leads me to believe being _Harly_ has been wearing thin for a long time,” he added off Harly’s dismayed and exasperated expression. His smirk widened, then softened into a wistful smile as his gaze dropped to Harly’s mouth. “You know, I’ll bet that if I kissed you right now, even if you enjoyed it, you’d punch me in the face on general principle alone.”

____

 

____

“ _Another_ spot-on assessment of me! Impressive, Mr. Vidal!” Harly exclaimed with faux-heartiness, digging out his keyfob. A few moments later he was shoving past Reyes, off to the right, and _back_ toward the reception hall and his car. This time, it was clear after even a few yards that Reyes Vidal was not following.

____

 

____

Smiling, Harly clutched at his keyfob and nodded to himself with grim satisfaction.

____

 

____

But a few yards further on, that smile felt like a gritted grimace. The kind that could potentially crack tooth enamel.

____

 

____

_Another_ few yards, and Harly had stopped. And though he told himself not to look back the way he’d come, he did.

____

 

____

Then, after staring at a slump-shouldered, sunset-limned Reyes Vidal—who was gazing off at the Gateway parking lot, as if he had nothing better to do and nowhere better to be—Harly shook his head once more. He was still angry, but his blood had gone from boil to simmer, his headache from near-nuclear to nuisance.

____

 

____

_Ugh. He's right. I’m a fucking idiot_ , Harly thought, incredulous and amazed at himself. But instead of making him angry again, it made him smile for-real. It was small and hopeless, that smile— _hapless_ —but it was still a smile.

____

 

____

“Hey!”

____

 

____

Reyes spun away from the Gateway lot after a sluggish startle-and-flail. Even with the bit of distance between them, his eyes were bright and luminous. Harly sighed and just . . . went with it. With all of whatever shenanigans and trouble he was inviting, simply by giving his gut and heart free rein . . . as he hadn’t done in so long.

____

 

____

“If, uh—if you’re ready to stop torturing yourself as a wedding gift to your ex, I can, um . . . I mean, since I’m leaving, _anyway_ —ah, fuck, d'ya want a ride home, or not?”

____

 

____

Reyes’ smile was slow, but pleased. And, by the time he drew even with Harly, beaming and hopeful.

____

 

____

Blushing again—deeper than ever—Harly silently lead them to his car, with only one more locating beep-n-brights.

____

 

____

“You live in town, right?” he asked as he nodded to indicate his car. Reyes made a soft sound of approval and appreciation, stopping dead in his tracks for a few seconds.

____

 

____

“I do. Yosman Gardens, not far from the university.” Reyes sounded distracted and impressed. Harly smiled just a little.

____

 

____

“I know it. Fancy digs.”

____

 

____

“Eh. I’ve lived in fancier,” Reyes said dismissively, as he stood near the passenger side bumper of Harly’s baby. “[Chevelle SS 454](https://imgix.ranker.com/user_node_img/666/13300031/original/chevrolet-chevelle-ss-454-automobile-model-photo-u3?w=650&q=50&fm=jpg&fit=crop&crop=faces), right? Seventy-one?”

____

 

____

“Seventy, actually.” Now, _Harly_ was the one impressed, however unwillingly. “You like classic cars.”

____

 

____

“I like striking character, gorgeous lines, and an outstanding body.” Reyes’ gaze met Harly’s briefly—challengingly—then dropped back to the car between them as he smirked. “ _Chevelles_ are _certainly_ all of that. And more, besides.”

____

 

____

“Right. Um.” Harly flushed, and knew he was about to say something stupid. Or angry. Or _telling_. To cut that inevitability off at the knees, he unlocked the car and curtly gestured at Reyes to let himself in.

____

 

____

“Thank you, Sc—er, _Harly_.” The other man beamed at Harly again, quirky and pleased and genuine. Harly swallowed a persistent lump in his throat and looked away, opening the driver’s side door. Reyes was but a moment behind him, and they slid into their respective seats and buckled up.

____

 

____

“It’s, uh . . . _Scott_ ,” Harly said softly, then started the Chevelle. As his baby rumbled to purring, powerful life, he focused on backing her out of the spot. But he could still feel those shrewd, approving Fenton Green-eyes on him like moonlight. “Scott Ryder.”

____

 

____

Harly didn’t have to look over at Reyes to know the man was still smirking. Maybe _with_ Harly, this time, and not _at_ him.

____

 

____

Maybe.

____

 

____

_Good enough to be going on with_ , Harly decided.

____

 

____

With a revved-up roar, he piloted the Chevelle out of the lot at speed, then hung a hard left. In seconds, the reception hall was lost to the sunset behind them: just another sad bit of the past put in the rearview . . . obscured by forward momentum and road-dust, and laid to rest by the hope of better times ahead.

____

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: _Your character is left at the altar. What, why, where, how, who? Is it good or bad?_
> 
> The bug Tumbles [here](http://beetle-ships-it-all.tumblr.com)!


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